


Meenah and the (Stolen) Diamonds

by DetectiveRoboRyan



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe- Humanstuck, Alternate Universe- Thieves, And also Marina and the Diamonds songs are in every chapter, And half the cast is polyamorous, Buttloads of references, Everyone is some form of queer, Everyone loves Marina, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-04
Updated: 2014-09-04
Packaged: 2018-02-16 02:45:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2253021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DetectiveRoboRyan/pseuds/DetectiveRoboRyan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which the Alpha Troll girls are thieves and so are the boys, basically the whole cast is some flavor of sexual minority, Meenah has a money fetish, Aranea wears dumb pajamas, every con is named after a Marina and the Diamonds song, Latula and Mituna are not matesprits, and Meenah hates 'Get Down Mr President.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meenah and the (Stolen) Diamonds

Your name is Meenah “Mermaid” Peixes and you are so fucking done.  
  
Actually, no, you’re not even fucking done. Done has left with her bag and her toothbrush and now you’re left staring at the ceiling of the apartment wondering how the fuck a woman like that could come into your life wet and wild and then leave you with the schnauzer and the lawn furniture you bought together. You are no longer fucking done and you should just change your Facebook relationship status to “it’s complicated” because you sure ain’t gonna be fucking done or anyone else anytime soon.  
  
Now why, one might ask, are you this way?  
  
Because of the cat.  
  
Alright, that isn’t entirely fair. Aside from the cat, there’s about a metric fuckton of other bullshark going on, like the fact that your apartment, which is normally blissfully empty, is not empty and is instead the scene of a god damned six-person high school reunion. There’s five girls you haven’t seen in years just lounging around your living room and eaitng your takeout. You should’ve expected this to happen, but fuck, you’re already done with this shit.  
  
“HEY,” you bark, your arms folded impatiently. You are a pissed-off Australian and you are not afraid to show it. It’s at this point that your apartment goes silent with all attention on you.  
  
You smirk internally. Once a leader, always a leader.  
  
Tossing a curl of hair out of your face, you steeple your fingers. “I suppose you’re all wondering why I’ve called you here today.”  
  
You can see Aranea open her pretty blue-lipsticked mouth, one finger held up in that ‘I-know-what-you’re-going-to-say-and-actually-I-have-an-interesting-fact-about-that-please-listen-to-me’ gesture you’ve come to know all too well, but she closes it when your eyes flick pointedly to her.  
 Honestly, you just wanted to say that.  
  
“Well good news, ‘cos I’m in a good mood and I’m gonna tell you,” you announce. Damara rolls her eyes and blows cigarette smoke into the air. If she puts that thing out on your couch you’re gonna be guilty of one more murder and burst into song when they ask you why. (She ran into your knife. She ran into your knife ten times.)  
  
“But,” you pause, your eyes flicking to something else not normally in your apartment. “Can I just ask what the _fuck_ that thing is doing here?”  
  
This is where the cat comes in. It is, in fact, a literal cat, or at least a giant ball of orange fluff with tiny pink ears and something resembling a face. You would’ve mistaken it for part of Meulin’s hair if it hadn’t been on your couch, licking its foofy paw without a care in the world.  
  
All eyes turn to Meulin now, who sheepishly pulls the cat closer. “The pet store was open early,” she said weakly, an attempt at an explanation. “Come on, pet stores never treat their animals right! I couldn’t just leave him there!”  
  
God fucking damn Meulin and her adorably-altruistic moral compass and big-ass kitten eyes. You massage the bridge of your nose under your glasses and let out a huge sigh. “Fine. Fine. What the fuck ever. So long as it don’t scratch up my couch or shit on the rug.”  
  
Meulin pulls a fist of victory. Ugh. You’re going soft.  
  
“Anyway,” you say, moving the conversation back to the matter at hand. “We’ve been hired.”  
  
That’s met with silence, of the stunned variety this time. You’d expected that. Who’d hire this bunch of idiots, anyway? But even you have to admit, you’re a bunch of idiots who are scarily good at what they do.  
  
“Us?” It’s Porrim that breaks the silence. “What the hell for? We haven’t run a con since high school!”  
  
“The best con ever done by minors, though,” Aranea brings up. “It was in _Conman Quarterly_ , the July issue, I believe.”  
  
“That isn’t the point,” Porrim shoots back, planting her hands on her hips. “I thought we agreed that would be the last time. At least I did.”  
  
“Well, not anymore,” you have to intervene. “You’re a coddamn call girl, Duchess. Somefin tells me that doesn’t count as going straight.”  
  
She fixes you with a glare. Obviously that struck a nerve, but to be honest, you really don’t give a shit.  
  
“Would you still do it if you got half a million dollars for it?” you say, tilting your chin up confidently and folding your arms. Most would call that cocky, but you know you’re right, and so does everyone else in the room.  
  
Porrim opens her mouth, then closes it, and then opens it again, like a dying codfish. “H-how much, exactly?” she repeats, her voice a half-whisper.  
  
A wicked grin curves across your face. “Five. Hundred. Thousand.”  
  
“Each?” Aranea says in disbelief, her eyes and mouth wide. “Does that mean that, for completing this job, we’ll collectively earn three million dollars?”  
  
“Fuck yeah it does!” you say, throwing your arm into the air excitedly. Fuck, you can almost smell the fresh-pressed packets of bills, and feel the fine grain of the papery weave against your cheek. You just really like money.  
  
No.  
  
You _really_ like money.  
  
Damara stands up, snuffing out her cigarette on the faded, scorch-marked knee of her jeans. “I’m in.”  
  
You smirk proudly, clapping her on the shoulder in a gesture of gratitude and camaraderie. “Anyone else?”  
  
“If we’re going to do this properly, you’re going to need someone with access to information,” Aranea says decidedly, standing up and adjusting her white cat’s-eye glasses. That makes your grin wider. Not only will that be pretty damn important, Aranea makes some good points sometimes, amidst a sea of mostly bullshit and needless synonyms that come out of her mouth.  
  
Plus, she’s gotten hotter since senior year.  
  
Latula, who hadn’t said a word the entire conversation, moves Meulin off her lap and stands up. “It’s kinda like high school. You gotta have someone that hits shit, right? And you know I can’t trust you with anyone else, paycheck.”  
  
At this, Meulin stands up, though you half-think it’s because she’s not on Latula’s lap and that is Wrong and Bad. “With half a million dollars, I could probably open up my own cat shelter. And, you know,” she adds the last bit hastily. “Half a million dollars is like, a buttload of money.”  
  
Porrim rolls her eyes and stands up. “Normally I’m never one to give into peer pressure, but I couldn’t resist completing the sextet. Now we’re all standing. We are a bunch of thieving criminal assholes, standing in a fucking circle.”  
  
“Does that mean you’re in?” you grin up at Porrim hopefully.  
  
She shrugs nonchalantly with one shoulder. “What the hell. I could use the money.”  
  
Fuck yes. _Fuck_ yes. Who’s gonna earn three million dollars? You are. You’re the fucking winner here, it’s you. Granted you’re gonna give these assholes their cut, but you’re so fucking giddy at the prospect of getting that much money you don’t even care. If you weren’t a hardened criminal, you’d be dancing like a white dad at a barbecue. Holy fucking damn, you’re gonna get so much fucking money.  
  
Though, technically, since you were the leader, this meant you had to come up with the plan.  
  
Internal celebration ceases.  
  
Shit.

**Author's Note:**

> In essence, this dumb thing came from too much free time, too much procrastination, and brainstorming with tumblr user lala---love on how awesome this would be if it were to happen.
> 
> Well.
> 
> It happened.


End file.
